


reverence

by strawberriez8800



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Hand Fetish, I thank Tumblr for this, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Series 2, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24841228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriez8800/pseuds/strawberriez8800
Summary: Tommy likes Alfie's hands. A lot.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 10
Kudos: 105





	reverence

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I don't know how long I can keep up this ridiculous rate of output, but I'm gonna ride it for as long as I can.
> 
> This is straight up PWP. 
> 
> Inspired by this [photoset](https://strawberriez8800x.tumblr.com/post/621523755676712960#notes/)

Alfie sets down his pen and skims the business contract he’s just finished drafting. It’s so fucking _long_ his hand aches from having written every speck of its detail.

See, Alfie knows Tommy is a cunning fucker—in more ways than one—which means their contract needs to be ironclad, which means it needs to cover a lot of ground—his arse, mainly—and his hand _aches_ from it all.

The way Tommy has been staring at Alfie’s hands for the better half of their meeting has not escaped Alfie’s attention. It’s frankly difficult, right, to _not_ notice those vixen blue eyes when they follow your every move like a cat chases a light.

Alfie passes the draft to Tommy, but he ignores it and walks around the table to him. “Alfie,” Tommy says as he puts out his cigarette in the half-empty glass of whiskey.

“What?” Alfie asks, amused.

Tommy’s wearing that look he always does when he wants Alfie to bend him over and fuck him to next week. Alfie likes this look. Oh, he likes it a lot. It’s just—it’s quite apropos of nothing, and while Alfie very much adores Tommy’s fuck-me eyes, he generally also likes his fucks to be borne of something clearer than a mystery.

Tommy grips Alfie’s wrist _hard_ and pulls it towards him. Alfie rises to his feet, eyebrows raised to his fucking hairline because what the hell is this mad man on about— “Slap me,” Tommy says, his voice calm, but the sharpness of his eyes suggests he is anything but calm. “Slap me, Alfie,” he repeats, and now Alfie understands.

He slaps Tommy across his cheek, hard enough that his hand stings from the force of it and Tommy’s head jerks a little. His cheek flushes immediately from the strike. Tommy’s smirking at this, at the burn, when he says, “Again.”

Alfie obliges all too gladly, feeling a grin rise to his lips as he revels in Tommy’s want to be smacked. His palm is about to meet Tommy’s cheek for the fourth time when Tommy grabs his hand, stopping him, and Alfie wonders what he’s going to ask for now, right, what this little slut wants, when Tommy brings Alfie’s palm to his mouth and starts kissing it.

And, oh, he’s _kissing_ it. His lips are soft against Alfie’s palm, but the way he’s kissing it is anything but soft. Tommy’s breath comes in quick exhales that beats hot against Alfie’s hand, and—oh, there’s the tongue; it’s wet and clumsy and it burns a trail on his skin.

“Is this what you want,” Alfie says. “To fuck my hand with your tongue? How else do you want it, hmm?”

Tommy pulls away long enough to mutter a dazed “shut the fuck up” before his mouth is on Alfie again. Tommy’s eyes fall shut as he pushes Alfie’s palm into his face, like he can’t fucking get enough of it, the whore, and Alfie can do nothing but stare at Tommy’s mouth, because this sight before him, yeah, it’s fucking glorious, isn’t it, with Tommy worshipping his hand like a patriot worships his goddamned country.

Tommy strays from his palm and wraps his mouth around Alfie’s index finger. He sucks, deep and hard and, fuck, the heat of Tommy’s mouth, the wetness, the slippery roughness of his tongue—it’s a lot. And the look of Tommy’s red glistening lips around his finger, it’s bloody obscene, and Tommy must see the want on Alfie’s face because he takes another finger into his mouth. His blue eyes stare at Alfie, relentless and dark, and Alfie pushes deeper into his throat, pressing down on his tongue, not too hard but enough that Tommy shudders with a gag. The sound of it, the way Tommy’s eyes water, fucking hell it makes Alfie’s cock throb.

God, he’s hard now. With his free hand Alfie undoes his trousers, because he wants to—no, fuck, he _needs_ to tend to his aching cock, but Tommy slaps his hand away before he can. Alfie ignores him; fuck him, Tommy, the whore— _Alfie’s_ whore, right, he can’t just do this, and not let Alfie at least relieve himself—

Tommy bites down on Alfie’s fingers. A warning to keep his cock in his trousers.

“You—you _fuck,_ ” Alfie hisses, and he thinks about pulling his hand out, but Tommy may just take off his fingers at that point, so he doesn’t. He lets Tommy have his hand, finger fucks Tommy’s throat like he’s getting paid for it while his dick weeps from negligence.

There’s a strange, wiggling sensation on his fingers, something different, and Alfie realises Tommy is working one of his rings loose with his tongue. Distantly, Alfie wonders what the fuck he would do if the little slut choked on it, but Tommy does not, and he spits out the ring and lets it fall. It rolls away, to a faraway land. Another ring follows, then the last one comes loose and they clatter along the floor. Honestly it would be a fucking travesty if Alfie lost his rings, but, well, if he’s going to lose them, this is the best way to do so.

When Alfie’s hand is free of his rings, Tommy undoes his trousers and brings Alfie’s hand to his dick. Taking the cue, Alfie palms Tommy’s cock and starts to stroke it, but Tommy slaps him, quick and hard and Alfie bites back a snarl. “No,” Tommy says. “Let me.” He closes his hand on Alfie’s and guides it along his cock in fast, repeated strokes.

“You don’t want much, do you,” Alfie says, and he can’t decide if he’s bloody _annoyed_ at Tommy’s insolence or utterly aroused by it. Or both. Definitely both.

So Alfie lets Tommy fuck into his hand like this, with Tommy’s grip on his, because the look on Tommy’s face is worth all the denial in the world and more. Tommy’s back is against the wall, because the fucker can barely stand on his own accord now, and Alfie kisses him so hard the back of Tommy’s head hits the wall with a thump. Alfie swallows Tommy’s moans, sinks his teeth down on Tommy’s bottom lip until Tommy gasps sharply.

Good. The fucker deserves this.

Tommy comes into Alfie’s palm, the spill hot and messy and sticky. Alfie readies to withdraw his hand from Tommy’s trousers, but he’s not done yet, apparently, because he takes Alfie’s wrist, firmly, and brings his hand to his mouth and licks the come off of it, moans deep in the back of his throat as he does, until he’s done lapping up every drop.

The way Tommy’s rubbing his face on Alfie’s hand. The _sight_ of it. Fuck, Alfie’s cock is screamingnow. If it had a voice, right, it would be fucking screaming in one continuous shriek until its throat runs hoarse—“Tom, fuck’s sake, just—get your mouth on me.”

See, Alfie doesn’t beg, because _other_ people usually do the begging. But this—this is an exception. Thomas fucking Shelby is an exception.

That’s when Alfie knows he’s fucked. Well and truly _fucked_.

In both business and in bed.

(Or—in Alfie’s office. It’s a very versatile office.)


End file.
